Urban Outcast Music #35 - Old Wounds by John Moreland. Don't look him up if you are looking for happy. As John himself says "I'm so damned good at sorrow".
Right after the Washington elk season, we flew east for the arctic whitetail deer hunting experience. With the deer browsing right out the window and a crossbow in hand, its a nice change of pace from going up and down mountains.
The typical plan was family time during the day and then as soon as the little man went down for his afternoon nap - activate the scent control program. That's a shower with dirt soap, dressing outside in 4 layers of coats/pants that are stored on the porch (especially cruel when you are damp and the clothes are at 0°F), and spraying down with a scent eliminator. Each of these sorties only lasted a few hours but that is about right if you want to keep functioning extremities.
For the first three evenings I sat in a box blind over a patch of soy beans. Sitting was all I managed with no wildlife in view except for flushing a couple does on my walk out in the dark. Back at the house I would hear how Father Time had such confidence that he was letting bucks walk away...
For evening #4, I moved into a tree stand in the woods along some promising trails. As it was nearing closing time, I started to inventory my gear and plan for climbing out when a doe with a buck in hot pursuit went racing by the stand at about 25 yards. I didn't even try to slow them down but just appreciated my first chance to witness the rut. Then after I had pulled the arrow from the bow, a much bigger buck came across on a similar line at a modest pace, clearly trying to work out where that doe had gone.
I waited for him to move from right to left until he was in an opening. I was shocked to see my "mwah" work like a charm and he froze in place. The shot went off, followed quickly by a solid twack! Unfortunately, the lighted nock didn't work so I wasn't sure where the arrow had gone. After waiting for the shaking to decline to a level where I might survive the climb down, I headed out in the dark to look for the arrow. To my horror, it was dry and buried in a 6" diameter tree. Having replayed the moment literally hundreds of times since, my best theory is that in the low light and my excitement, I gauged the distance so poorly that the arrow went right over his back. I put about equal weight on me confusing a tree in front of him for a tree behind him. Four months later and all I can say is ughh...
The redemption tour started with a return to the same stand and pretty quickly a good sized buck came strolling down that same path in broad daylight. The first half of his transit across the stand was pretty congested with small limbs/saplings so I started taking deep breaths and waited for him to cross into a broader shooting lane. Instead, he took a hard right and went across the ravine. Nature decided I didn't deserve another chance and he would be the last buck I saw. The final night saw no activity in the stands and Father Time and I independently decided to sneak up on the soy bean patch right before dark but the two does there slipped out of the pincer move.
Despite my failures I have high hopes for future attempts. Wisconsin is a very generous state for deer hunters, even being out of state I had 5 tags to work with (1 buck, 4 does). Once Father Time implements my pruning suggestions, I'm confident we will both be in the market for additional chest freezers.